It was hardly possible that there could be so many people in the whole world, let alone so many fighters as there were spread through out the Vale. Armies from vast and scarcely populated kingdoms sat side by side with those from the Nine Sects. An organized chaos, Shiftie had said. Abiel felt small, insignificant. She was surrounded by thousands upon thousands of all manner of melee and caster, so many legends in their own right, all substantially older and battle hardened, though she suspected none had ever seen a battle of this magnitude. It hadn't yet begun, the legions of Gurvir were advancing as she stood there feeling alone, hollow. She had always wanted this, or so she thought. In her dreams, she was meant for precisely this. But there was a difference between raiding and fighting small skirmishes with Shiftie or a host of others like Raxus or Zykon in front of her, protecting her in the real world. Abiel understood the gravity of those moments leading up to this. But who was she, compared to these people? The emissary of Coste Volte? With no army, no soldiers, not even a banner to post outside of her tent. Shiftie would have a mass of horde surrounding him. He could no longer watch out for her. Nor did she want him to. The fact that so many people had felt the need to be her shield until now, as if her life meant something in the scheme of the world, had never made sense to her. If she was being trained to be a centurion of some sort, then she needed to fight and to learn the hard lessons.
Abiel wanted to hide and take Marin and run as far as she could from this. If she were caught and killed, then so be it. It wasn't fear of death that was driving the urge to flee, it was the fear of failure and failing her master. She did not want to fall in battle here among thousands like a sheep to slaughter and know that Shiftie would believe she could have lived somehow. She did not have the knowledge he possessed, that anyone there walking passed her had. She was barely a novice in comparison. The gleam of her gloves caught Abiel's attention. Abiel held her hands before her, looking over the detailed hybrid metal, so beautifully crafted. These were a warriors gloves but they did not feel that they belonged on her. They felt heavy. All of her armor felt heavy, stifling, like playing dress up as a child in someone elses clothing. No, this was all wrong. A horn trumpeted across the valley. Captains and leaders began shouting orders. A Gurvir scout had been spotted.
A fire of urgency swept over the masses, who began seeing to their final preparations before battle. What had she to prepare for? Abiel turned and went back to her tent and began to look about, sifting through saddle bags, extra gear friends had offered her. Weapons- so many weapons. Swords, bows, shields... none of it felt as though it belonged to her and that her true possessions were missing. It hurt to breathe. If only she could take her breastplate off, but it would be folly to do so. It would be like asking to be murdered. She had to get used to it, but did not believe she'd have the opportunity. More horns blared followed by more shouting. All muffled in her mind, Abiel sat down on the small stool in the middle of the shelter and held her face in her hands.
"Abi'" someone called from outside the tent and pulled the fabric aside. It was Zykon. "What are you doing?" he snapped and Abiel got to her feet.
"Praying," she lied.
"Oh," Zykon replied uncomfortably. "Well, when you're done doing that, make sure you go to see the clerics and shamans for their blessings or you will surely die."
"I will. I am nearly finished."
"Good. And Gods be with you and all of that." Zykon patted her awkwardly on her heavily armored shoulder.
"And may they be with you and everyone this day." Abiel smiled meekly and the monk was gone. He wore no armor. Abiel envied that freedom, but went back to brooding on her stool.
She was glad her mother was not there. Juldain had never wanted this life for her. Abiel pulled her right glove off with her teeth and dropped it on the ground and began to dig within the wrist guards for the necklace until it slid up and then over the wrist guard. The stones were all on ugly shade of blood brown and red, stained by the blood of others and even her own. She'd tried so hard over the years to clean the stones, but to no avail. Whatever they'd been made from, they'd managed to absorb the blood. They'd never come off, Abiel lamented. As hard as she had tried to cut the slight string that seemed so fragile holding the stones together in their strand, it had never given way. More horns blared, closer this time. A horse's shrill whinny cut through it. Marin.
Abiel bounded from her tent and around the back, running as fast as the armor would let her to the horse paddock. Marin was rearing and calling out to her at the tall fence among the other horses, who became agitated by this. Abiel peeled the left glove from her hand and tossed it aside, forgotten immediately, as she ran. The sound of a whip cracked- The men in charge of the horses entered the pen and were attempting to calm the horse. Abiel ran in behind them, yelling for them to stop and called to Marin, who charged through the other horses to get to her, stopped and butted his head into her breastplate attempting to nuzzle her."I can not let you go alone," his thoughts touched her mind.
"I'll be all right," Abiel laughed softly and felt tears welling in her eyes. "I have to be. Who else will look after you if I die?" for now, the lie was the truth. The other horses began to move toward her.
"They want to be close to you, as I am." Marin stood over her, chest to chest, his head hanging over her shoulder. "We can smell their intent." Marin was speaking of the Gurvir. "They are very close now."
"I know, my friend. And you know that if we are all to live, then they must be defeated and I must participate."
"You should not go without me."
"But I must. For what ever the Gods intent, it seems I am to fight, even if I am alone. But you will be with me, you must know that. We have a long time from this day on to remain kindreds. This will not be my end, but this one time, I must fight without you."
Marin grumbled unhappily about this.
"But I must ask one thing of you, my dear friend, this is terribly important to me. Should it happen that the Gods take me, find my mother in Trentaru Keep. Be her companion as you have been mine." Abiel was not able to hold back the tears and pressed her face into Marin's soft neck. He began to object. "Promise me!" she snapped and stepped back from him, but took his muzzle in her hands and pulled his nose to her chin, staring in his black eyes.
"I will agree to this."
A loud trumpet blasted, echoing across the valley. Abiel's heart stopped in her chest. It was the call to arms! Battle was moments away and she had not been to the clerics and shamans.
"Goodbye my friend." Abiel hugged Marin tightly about the neck and kissed the bridge of his muzzle. "I love you terribly." and she sprinted off without hearing Marin's reply.
Abiel ran as fast as she could to her tent. The Lore army was on the move and in the distance she caught a glimpse of the Gurvir hordes sweeping over the top of the hills opposite the camp. She snatched two swords and left everything else behind and began to run toward the massive Lore army lines that were advancing as quickly as the Gurvir. At the edge of the tree lines, the casters stood in row after row in their colorful robes, already casting spells that arced and crashed down upon the hordes of evil races. Lore rangers were shooting arrows over the tops of their army to strike the advancing Gurvir. There was a considerable distance between Abiel and the back of the army. She was the straggler and the tears for Marin turned to tears of embarrassment.
When the two armies met, it was like thunder. The screaming and shouting ripped through the Vale as the Gurvir attempted to push through the Lore lines in order to attack the casters. The armor was so heavy upon her, rattling around, jangling, twisting. Abiel kept running and finally reached the rear of the army. It was like a wall, everyone scrambling to reach a Gurvir. Enemy arrows began to rain down on the rear of the Lore army. Warriors raised shields while others rogues used the cover to sneak through. It was an expanse of violence like Abiel had never imagined.
She tried to use her small stature to her advantage, squeezing through small areas as skirmishes and battles began to erupt in pockets. The Lore army was being pushed back and allowing for more room to move. Abiel hacked and slashed, not nearly as hard as she knew she could, hampered by the plates of armor. She channeled the frustration into her strikes and hacked and swung at every Gurvir she saw, even if they were engaged with Lore centurions or dread knights. Spells were erupting around them, blood staining the green grass and the foul smell of orc and goblin blood. Then came the ogres the Gurvir had swayed, trolls, and horrible mutated beasts Abiel could not recognize that were almost like dogs, but bigger and hairless. Then a smell assaulted Abiel's senses- the Gurvir's magic. Abiel thought she caught sight of a white ponytail and dark blue armor- Shiftie!
Abiel tried with all of her might to fight her way to him, if it was him. Her armor continued to slow her down as another wave of Gurvir poured over the crest of the hill and more kept coming. It was like standing in the shallow areas of the ocean. Without realizing it, the Lore army had been losing ground and were being pushed back closer to camp, closer to the casters. Abiel took a moment to look back- the rangers were engaged now with the Gurvir and there was nothing between the rangers and the casters. Abiel had made a mistake a realized it when an ogre's mace slammed into her back, clipping her in the back of the head.
Her breath rushed from her, her back burned like she'd never felt before, her head ringing. She tried to get her legs under her when a large boot pressed down on her back. Her arms were partially pinned under her. Abiel struggled and wiggled and barely managed to roll free of the incoming blow. The mace struck the bloody ground inches from her ribs and she was on her feet again, the back of her breast plate indented and squeezing her tightly making it difficult to breathe. She managed to dodge another blow as she attempted to circle him and avoid other fights. Abiel didn't want to avoid the ogre's crushing blow only to get stabbed by a Gurvir rogue. One thing was for certain- the breast plate had to come off.
Abiel threw caution to the Gods and tossed one of her swords on the ground. Barely dodging the massive black-armor plated ogre who was becoming more agitated with every miss, Abiel fumbled with the buckles of her breastplate. The ribs were easy enough, The shoulder straps nearly cost her her feet when the ogre swung down to crush her head, the mace thudding into the earth inches from her toes. Abiel tossed her sword in front of her, watching the ogre, who stood staring at this new tatcic of hers. Abiel used the chance to wiggle out of the partially buckled breast plate and dove aside the ogre's next swing. She lunged toward him as he raised the mace again and snatched her sword, rolled to her back and drove the sword straight up, skewering the ogre between the legs then rolled toward the sword of a dead Gurvir dread knight, grabbed it and was on her feet again. Being free of the breastplate allowed her to catch her breath. Now she just had to lose the armored leggings.
A blood elven dread knight interrupted her moment of joy, hacking and slashing away causing Abiel to back up hastily and nearly slipped in a goblin's end trails. Abiel parried and riposted, charging at the knight and her teaching took over for a moment. The dread knight paused for a moment to cast a spell- Off came his head. Abiel ould not be able to shimmy out of her plate greaves, not with her plated boots and shin guards. She would have to work her way out of them completely, a buckle at a time. She started from the bottom... One buckle down, then another attacker. A second buckle, another attacker and then a second and third foe. A third buckle... only four more to go, she thought as she parried and slashed. On it went until she lept away from her leggings, stabbing and whirling, dodging, parrying, feinting and advancing as she'd been taught. Without realizing, she was fighting and winning, and even enjoying the battle. And there it was again, the dark blue armor and the little white pony tail. It was further away than before, surrounded by adversaries. Abiel had stopped paying attention to who was winning the over all battle or to the fact that the Gurvir kept coming like a flood. Now that Abi' was free of the armor, she could move more swiftly to the only thing important to her now: Shiftie.
He changed position for a moment and she could see his face clearly. He was bleeding, gashes in his forehead and cheek, fighting six enemies, a mix of blood elves, orc and goblin of various classes- a dread knight or two, several rangers-types and warriors. He was standing a head above them and Abiel realized he was fighting atop a pile of Gurvir corpses and Abiel laughed aloud and took on her next foe. Magic errupted around her, far too close. The Gurvir continued their advancement. Shiftie's blood-stained face was suddenly gone from view and Abiel began to panic. She hacked and slashed with a ferocity she did not know. She had to get to him.
Gurvir dropped before her as she moved toward Shiftie, who was attempting to get back to his feet but finding it difficult on top of blood covered armor from the corpses and the Gurvir's relentless attempt to put him down like a rabid dog. Despite the surrounding Gurvir, Abiel saw it clear as day- a gleaming jagged onyx sword struck downward, piercing into Shiftie through his armor.
There was no time for crying. Abiel had to reach Shiftie. He was still fighting from his back, using what was left of his shield to defend himself. The panic was shifting to anger, retribution, and the ever-growing need to reach him. The world was starting to cloud out around her. Abiel was losing herself, the focus so strong that all else melted away. She would not remember what was about to occur.
The Gurvir surrounding Shiftie stopped attacking. He was hurt and badly. If he didn't get to the clerics soon, he was going to die. His magic shields were gone, he was too tired to cast a spell, his weapon shield beat to a pulp. Something was drawing the Gurvir's attention. And then he felt it- the rage. He knew now when Abiel was not herself and somehow she'd not only survived, but that she knew he was injured and she was coming to him. The pain seared through Shiftie. He'd been struck by a poisoned blade. Abiel's fury sent his blood boiling as he writhed atop the bodies of fallen Gurvir and even some of his own comrades. He turned to watch for her, out of control and tearing through ogres and orc warriors like a fiend. Her eyes glowed, white tendrils of smoke swirled outward. She was in nothing but a blood-riddled and filthy tunic that had once been white, leather breaches and her plated boots. But there was something different. Shadowy images of herself pulsed from her, like the ripples of a pool of water. She hacked and slashed, picking up swords, axes, knives, maces, anything near at hand, to kill her next victims, leaving the weapons where they stuck.
When a foe charged her before she could pick something up, it did not phase her. Abiel fought with her bare fists. Shiftie had never seen a fist impale a face much less a skull before, and now that he'd seen it, he'd wished he'd hadn't. The Gurvir were frightened, that much he could tell, and what ever she was projecting upon them was affecting them, yet they could not run. Those new Gurvir just joining the fight were not yet affected. Abiel did not move out of the way in time of one advancing dread knight, Shiftie saw the blade of an onyx sword like the one that had pierced him, tear through Abiel's right upper chest. She fell to a knee, the smoke of her eyes faded some, and what ever hold she had on the Gurvir receded. They moved to attack her with everything they had. Shiftie saw Abiel's head rise some- she was looking for him, then looking at him. An axe swung down toward her neck- Abiel's left arm rose and a loud clash sounded as the blade hit the newly-black stones of her mother's necklace. Abiel rose when axe rebounded and shattered, the orc wielding it paid painfully when his heart was ripped from his chest and thrown aside. She seemed taller now. Much taller. Older. Frightening. The Gurvir continued to fall around her.
Shiftie tried to get to his feet, but to no avail. The poison was working its way through his body, congealing in his heart and he had very little time left. For all of his lack of fear, he was angry. He did not want to die like this, watching his Abiel-turned-demon taking on the entirety of the remaining Gurvir in order to get to him. A small part of him hoped that she would, not that she could save him, but much like him in many ways, she always managed the impossible when it seemed least possible. As her frightening presence began to grow and encompass him as it was with all upon the battlefield, he could feel his lasts breath coming. The world was still now, watching Abiel eradicate and shred one Gurvir after another in the most brutal manner possible, as if holding its own collective breath. If this was the paladin he was seeing, then he was proud to have taught her, dumbfounded by the fury within her. As Shiftie's vision darkened, his last conscious thought was that he'd been loved by her over all others.
The Gurvir battle horns sounded- retreat. Gurvir who could retreat did and fled back over the hill crest and out of sight. Those who couldn't, died and horribly as Abiel rushed to get to Shiftie. Finally free of Gurvir attackers, Abiel ran to Shiftie, the onyx blade still protruding from her, the heavy hilt sagging down, causing the jagged blade to cut higher toward her shoulder. There was no pain, only the annoyance of a heavy metal sword tugging at her person. She could not reach behind to grasp the hilt, so she opted to push it out from the front. The rage was fading quickly as she dropped to her knees atop the bodies that Shiftie's own body laid strewn across. This could not be his end. Her emotions choked her and though she wanted to scream, it would not come out. Abiel pulled Shiftie to her. All demon-presence gone, she was smaller than normal, appearing as the child Shiftie had known. She held him in her arms and cried, begging and pleading that he should live and she should die. The survivors of the Lore armies were overcome by her grief as it poured over them and coursed through the Valley. She pressed her lips to his forehead, shaking with grief. He was still warm, she could taste his blood upon her lips.
"Please please please. Take me in his stead." she whispered. "Come back to me. I'll do anything." Abiel cradled Shiftie's lifeless body to her chest, holding and rocking him, crying silently. "I love you. I love you so much. Please know that. I love you." Abiel kissed his mouth and held Shiftie to her again, stroking his soft white hair. The pain rocked her. Trapped within her body, it had no where to go. She held him more tightly, shaking and sobbing violently. "Take me for him. Please, I beg of you," Abiel prayed and kissed Shiftie's forehead again. "I love you."
A violent force shook and boomed, knocking over people, tents, scattering animals and frightening the lot of them. A ripple of magic in a form no one recognized shook the survivors to their core, fearful some attack had just been unleashed. As quickly as it had come it was gone, none knowing what it was or where it had come from. They set back on the task of healing the wounded and tending to the injured, separating the bodies of Gurvir from those of the Lore.
Two days, Shiftie had been told. It had been two days since he'd fallen on the battlefield. He would have scars, but this was not new. All wounds had nearly healed in those two days and no one had told him what had happened, how he had survived the poisoned blade or what had become of Abiel. He'd expected her to be at his side- She was always at his side when he awoke. Friends had not been by his tent to see him since he'd awakened that morning. His body ached, but Shiftie forced himself from his cot. Dressed only in a clean pair of trousers, the high elf centurion left his tent to find someone, anyone, who could tell him what others seemed to be keeping from him. In the distance at the far end of the valley, bodies of the Gurvir will still burning, the smell of death hung about the once beautiful Vale. At the opposite end, the necromancers and shamans were still preparing the bodies of the Lore soldiers and casters to be returned to their homes for a proper burial. So many had died, even more terribly wounded. They had succeeded at fending off the Gurvir, for the time being. He recalled the sight of Abiel fighting and his stride quickened.
"Raxus!" Shiftie yelled, seeing his dark elven friend standing in front of his own tent gnawing on a hunk of meat. Raxus' gaze fell over others near by. Shiftie realized they were staring at him suspiciously or lowered their voices to a whisper.
"What in all of this world happened?" Shiftie demanded as he approached the dread knight. Raxus threw the remainder of his meat to the ground and pulled Shiftie into the tent, snapping at the onlookers to go back to their own affairs.
"Where is Abiel?" the high elf demanded.
"Sit down." Raxus said to Shiftie quietly and dropped the curtain to the entrance of the tent. An oil lamp burned brightly in the corner, casting shadows across the space. Raxus ran his hand through his white hair, his forearm heavily bandaged.
"She is dead." Raxus said solemnly.
Shiftie jumped to his feet and regretted it. His muscles burned and a wave of dizziness fell over him.
"Sit!" Raxus barked. "Let me finish." Raxus crossed the tent and poured two small cups of porte and handed one to Shiftie. "Both the Dragon's and Serpeant's had out flanked the Gurvir. A group of rangers led one hundred casters through. They took out the Gurvir casters and half a legion of orc and what ever those hairless beasts were, cutting off their re-enforcements, leaving us to dispatch the rest. When the field started to clear, I saw you go down. And then we all saw... Her. At least fifty fell when I realized she was attempting to reach you. She had been stabbed by a cursed onyx blade,"
"I remember," Shiftie cut in.
"She did finally reach you. And she held you and cried terribly. I know this because we were all crying because of her. So help me, I hope to never suffer again as I did consumed by her grief over you." Raxus gulped down his wine and poured another cup. "Something happened, no one is sure what. There was... a crackling of sorts, like the sounds of thunder and lightening, but it tore through the Vale in a heavy blast. She was dead. Several of us came to your bodies. We took up your body and began to carry you and you started to breathe. We almost dropped you, I am not ashamed to say. Gave us all quite a start. But I know a dead man when I see one and sure as day you were dead and come back to life."
"And Abi'?" Shiftie asked quietly.
"No. We gave her over to Jenose for preparation."
"Do you think..." Shiftie cut himself off. There was no way that she could have saved him. It made sense that she was dead, she'd been stabbed by a poisonous blade. But how could he be alive?
"I don't know what I think or what I should believe. No one does. That horse of hers has been going out of his mind since. It's taking four druids to keep him calmed and some are suggesting we put him down if he's gone mad."
"That would be a shame," Shiftie spoke softly, trapped in his thoughts. He'd never been attached to a horse the way Abi' was to Marin. It seemed wrong to lose the last part of her by destroying the animal. Several uneasy moments passed between them.
"Did you want to ride with us to take Abi's body to her mother?" Raxus asked.
"Of course. When do we set out?" Shiftie got to his feet more carefully this time and gulped down his cup of port.
"Tomorrow morning. Will you be able to ride?"
"I will have to be." Shiftie attempted a smile that showed as more of an awkward grimace.
Shiftie waived slightly to the monk Tobynn, who was currently keeping watch over Abiel's horse, Marin. There was a strong magic being channeled at the grey-brown stallion, more than should have been necessary. He could see the horse's eyes blinking rapidly, struggling against the magic. Shiftie raised his hand as much as he could toward Marin's nose and stroked it gently.
"She is gone. For that, I am sorry. If I cannot repay the debt I owe to her, than I shall pass it on to you." Shiftie looked to Tobynn. "Drop the spell, please, Toby'." Tobynn grunted.
"It might just be your funeral then," the druid muttered and ceased conjuring the soothing spell.
Marin reared irritably, his shrill cry spooked the other horses. Shiftie put his hands out, unaccustomed to having to soothe an animal so out of sorts.
"Do you understand me?" Shiftie asked. "Give me a moment. Just a moment to explain."
Marin set his front hooves to ground and eyed the high elf suspiciously, pawing and snorting. Shiftie again put up his hand, his ribs still sore.
"For her, if you understand me, please listen to me." Shiftie said softly. Marin stepped forward and touched his nose to Shiftie's hand. Shiftie exhaled, relieved.
"She saved me. I don't know how she did it, but she did." The centurion found her name caught in his throat, unable to speak it aloud. "I can not repay the debt to her, though I doubt she'd ever hold me to it," a slight smiled cracked thinking of her near-to obscene generosity toward him for as long as he'd known Abiel. "Tomorrow, we are taking her body to her mother."
Marin reared slightly.
"Wait... wait! Listen!" Shiftie raised his hand again to Marin's quivering nose. "If you cannot control these outbursts, then under the magic you will go again or worse, I think you know this. I am offering you the chance to come with us. Either as my steed or free, how ever you choose. I will not force you to be ridden by another if you do not choose it. And you may stay with her mother after that. Juldain will care for you if you wish to remain with her, or you may stay with me or you may leave and roam the world at your will." The horse stood still, thinking this proposal over.
"I will set you free now, you may choose your own way. I think Ab... She would want that." Shiftie turned on his heel and went to the gate and held it open. Tobynn walked passed him, avoiding the centurion's gaze. Marin stood watching and slowly walked toward Shiftie and waited for the high elf as he locked the corral, then followed like a lost dog at Shiftie's heals.
Shiftie was being avoided, that much was clear. Eyes turned away from him, conversations lowered to a whisper or stopped at his approach. Marin was at least company. He was no substitute for Abiel, but there was solace in knowing Marin had meant so much to Abiel, which in turn reminded Shiftie of how much he himself had meant to the girl.
Morning came swiftly, his aches lessened some from the day before. Marin was standing dutifully outside the tent as Abi' would have. Shiftie was in a terrible hurry now to have this job done. He carried his saddle outside and set it upon Marin, who did not appear to object, then bridled the horse gently. Taking Abiel home would give him the time to think over what might have happened. He should not have lived. He knew this, treatment, or the lack there of, was proof enough of that. Pouty was not there to consult, which Shiftie felt a sharp edge of resentment over. All this time spent protecting the girl, for what? So she could die in the first true battle of the world? That put any thought of her being the paladin to rest at the very least. She had been special though. There was no doubting that. But now she would be buried as a Regeant's daughter. Having no guild or house, it was all the recognition she would have. No one seemed at any particular loss over her more than another, despite having possibly turned the tide in battle. There was no way to know and no one had answers, only questions they did not care to resolve.
Shiftie's thoughts had clouded his walk to his friends. Raxus, Mencius and Thromguard were waiting with their horses surrounding the two-wheeled cart carrying Abiel's wrapped body, two yoked mules waiting patiently to pull it. Raxus eyed Marin wearily.
"He wants to go. Who are we to deny him?" Shiftie stated and pulled himself up into the saddle stiffly.
Darkness.... nothing. The slight shift of consciousness, one and then many. A small plane of existence for one to stand on, though there were no feet to set upon the solid nothing, no legs, no torso, no arms or hand to reach out, no heart to pound within. Only an expanse, queries in their simplest forms from the entity that was known by some in the Lorelands as Abiel, though no memory of such a place or person existed within the thoughts of the entity.
"Our child, who has come home too soon as you always do, making the choices again to give of yourself for One and not the many. Were you not the brightest of the stars for which your eternal destiny has been laid, We should remake you again from the clays of our souls." One voice, many voices pulsed through the entity in a gentle silence. It was not meant to respond, nor would it. Only to listen and accept what ever was to come from their wishes.
"The love you hold for him is too much, too strong. But as before, We know that right actions will come, though at a detriment to you. Such is the cycle your love for him causes, but so it shall always be. We shall receive you again upon the eve of your ascension into your true form. Go back to the world and set again upon your course. Live well, our small one, Our hope for all."
The nothing became a true darkness, an expanding of all colors turning to black, vivid imagery, dreams so beautiful. Her bare feet touched tall wet grass that tickled her ankles as she walked, moving toward the highest mountain she'd ever seen that stretched beyond her comprehension."The love you hold for him is too much, too strong. But as before, We know that right actions will come, though at a detriment to you. Such is the cycle your love for him causes, but so it shall always be. We shall receive you again upon the eve of your ascension into your true form. Go back to the world and set again upon your course. Live well, our small one, Our hope for all."
"Come to me," the voice whispered.
She knew this voice, it had spoken to her in many dreams.
Abiel continued to walk toward the foreboding mountain, but held no fear. Her friend was waiting inside. There was no foot path to lead her, but she walked as though following one closer and closer. Doubled doors of iron and wood, cloaked in ivy and flowers opened before her with ease, closing behind her as she entered the dark mountain. Abiel followed the unseen path of her heart, following a music she could not hear that played to her mind, drawing her easily through the maze of chambers in the dark. She let her hands slide over the tunneled walls, feeling the cool stone against her skin. The mountain trembled slightly as a human might when being caressed so lovingly.
"I will never understand the choices you make," the voice said.
"Why? What have I done now?" Abiel smiled to herself. Her form was alternating between child and the adult she had yet to become.
"You love too much, you do not see the world as it is, you only see him.""Is it wrong to love someone with all of your heart?"
"If you were any other human, I would ask why you did not love more truly. But as you are no mere human, I must ask what binds you to him so madly in this life. Your role in these lands is not to be his servant, but for him to be yours."
Abiel laughed aloud, it echoed, tinkling through out the mountain.
"I do not serve at his pleasure, I serve him at my own. I did not choose to love him as I do, I accept it for what it is."
"Do you dream of living in matrimony with little versions of him scrambling at your feet?"
Abiel laughed more loudly still as she continued to move through the chambers and tunnels, now the vision of the adult self she had not yet become in the known world.
"You know that I do not, just as you know that my wish is not for him to be mine. I love and I accept that I love, and he accepts that I love."
"Wonderful. Now for you to accept that your place in this world is NOT merely to love him, but to ascend and reach your potential so that you may fulfill your destiny as you have in the past."
"Have I ever said that I refused? I had assumed these things would happen in their own time, as you've always told me."
"Dying so that he may live does not appear to me or to our creators as acceptance, my dearest love. Unbeknownst to your immortal self, you committed a sacrifice you were in no position to make, without the power to make it."
"And you are telling me this because I managed to succeed?"
"I am telling you this because it was foolish, however well intended and it will have consequences. "
"For him, I am willing to pay whatever price."
"So foolish a notion. You are not in this world to serve him or to sacrifice for him."
"So you continue to remind me."
Abiel reached the center of the mountain and began the descent toward the heart of the mountain. Torches lit at her passing, though she stepped sure-footed down the spiraling stone steps.
"Why am I here?"
"That is an unanswerable question."
Abiel laughed again, the echo taking on an almost sinister tone.
"Why am I here with you at this very moment? Why do I come here like this?"
"Because unlike Him," the voice sneered, "You do not just come back to life. Your body needs time to rest and restore the spirit of your soul, rebuild its powers and magics. Elven immortality is a misrepresentation of the facts. They are not immortal if they can be killed. You are immortal when you choose to live and keep hold of your place in the world, which stands to reason that if you can sever this ridiculous bond with him, you can love the world as much and take your place in it as you were meant to. Until then, his spirit will ever be attached to yours, whilst you hope and pray that one day he will make all manner of things right between you."
"But he owes me nothing." Abiel stopped and looked into the darkness as though the body of the voice was standing before her, a quizzical look upon her face.
"Not in this life, no."
"Then I want to cancel the debt. I don't want him bound to me because of something he did in another life, that's nonsense." Abiel proceeded down the stairs again.
"He accepted the debt himself, my dear. He, just as you, accepted this fate. You are cursed and blessed with one another until Fate says otherwise. Foolish creatures, only seeing through your own eyes and never the eyes of others when you strike these bargains. But within this life, you can make the choice yourself, be free of him so that you may become what you are."
There was no further discussion until finally Abiel reached the bottom of the steps and made her way across a narrow arched bridge over looking a giant pool of water that ran under the mountain. Across the water, two silvery orbs flared and swirled, moving closer high over the water. Warm air touched Abiel's skin as the enormous black dragon approached. Scaled muscles shimmered from the torch lights over head, the body of the dragon was bigger than her mother's castle, a long slender neck leading to a head small in comparison to its body, but as large as a barn and fearsome. Several long dark-grey opalescent tendrils hung from its snout reminding Abiel of a silly mustache, two long fangs peaking out of the closed mouth. His wings pressed tightly against his body, the dragon Arhus moved over the water as though it were solid, causing not even a ripple. He stopped just in front of her, dipping his head toward her, his tail whipping behind him to settle around his legs and wade absently in the water.
Abiel bowed deeply, awed by the beauty and ferocity.
"There will come a time when you must forgo your devotion to him and accept who and what you are to the world and love the world and your place in it with as much passion and devotion as you carry for him. There must be balance in all things."
"So I am to be your sword in the fight for all things good and right?"
"No. You are not the champion of righteousness, my dearling. Such a thing can never be, it should never to fall to one person to cure the ills of the world. You are merely the scales."
"The scales?"
"To have free will in the world means there are those who will do good things, those who will do bad and all of the reasons that those choices are made. There was once a time when you did terrible things. You did those things for him. And then you did things for others that were the right thing for them. You were the arms in the scale of balance. To some, you were the purest of evil. And to others, you were the savior. But never have you been the side of good or the side of evil. YOU are the balance."
Abiel had never imagined herself as being capable of evil or of bad deeds. This unsettled her and she did not like it.
"How many Gods are there?" Arhus asked.
"Nine."
"But?" he asked.
"But what?" Abiel stared at him.
"There is a Tenth entity. Balance. No matter which way the cycles go, there is always the centerpiece of balance. Such is the way with the Gods just as it is here in this world and every other."
"There are more worlds?" Abiel asked surprised.
"Irrelevant." Arhus snapped. "This is the only place you exist, and so any other place or time serves no function of knowledge in this one. Their are nine continents here on this world. The balance of these nine is the ocean they rest upon. There must be balance in all things, as I have told you. From the smallest of things to the largest of scales. And you must accept this. To ignore it, to ignore your place is to ignore the rules of the world. And if you will not accept it, then you shall find yourself in a position where you will have no choice but to concede to your fate in ways you would not choose to, and make choices you would not otherwise make."
"I understand." Abiel sighed within herself. She did not like this dream at all.
"Do not feel put upon by the weight of your purpose. To do so is to make your existence an unpleasant burden."
"I like you much better when you aren't pressing important matters upon my soul."
Arhus laughed heartily.
"Go and find your dearest love then, leave me to be alone in this place until you decide to see me again."
"You called for me this time."
"So I did, so I did. And as usual, you have distracted me from the reasons I have called to you." Arhus arched his neck up and let out an enormous stream of flame, causing Abiel to duck with her hands over her head, though she knew he would not harm her.
The chamber was alight now, gleaming in jewels and treasure beyond all counting. Arhus began to speak in a hissing tone, Abiel felt the magic ripple around her, the water bubbled and looked to be boiling about the dragon's black feet. The jewels and treasures sparkled and shimmered like a million stars and something caught her attention- the necklace Juldain had given to her, wrapped around her wrist was sparkling and glowing as well.
"My mother... you gave this to her?"
"Shhhhh. I am trying to cast powerful magics here." Arhus feigned irritation. He went back to casting and a large chest appeared beside Abiel and the incantation stopped, the jeweled walls dimmed.
"Now, to answer your question, no, I did not gift it to her. It was gifted to your grandfather, who was instructed to pass it to your mother, who was instructed to keep it for you." Arhus was lying. Abiel didn't know how she knew, but said nothing. "It acts as a gauntlet when struck because you chose to wear it on your wrist." An image of Abiel fighting against the Gurvir in the vale appeared before her. She saw herself hold her arm up, saw the axe strike, and rebound in pieces. "It will never leave you now that you have it, you will never remove it." The image faded, but stayed brightly in Abiel's memory. Though she remembered the much of the battle, she did not recall that instance and wondered what else was missing from that day.
"Open the chest." Arhus instructed.
Abiel moved to kneel before the silver-plated chest, it was longer than she was tall and reminded her of a coffin. Beautiful images of dragons had been masterfully engraved into it. She touched them gently with her fingers and found the latch.
Abiel took a deep breath and slowly began to push open the heavy lid.
A blinding light burst forth but Abiel did not avert her gaze. The light receded as she reached for it, allowing her to see the enormous blade that looked like no other she'd seen. Like its casing, the sword was nearly as long as Abiel was tall, it gleamed silvery white from blade to hilt, the blade was half as wide as the length of her arm, long rectangular, double-edged death staring back at her. The hilt was a dragon, nine black jewels embedded in the two horns, on the tops of the four feet, one at the tip of each wing and one at the tip of the pointed tail. It was calling to her in whispers and memories of a life she did not live. She wanted so much to touch it and hold it, but withdrew her hand from the chest. Something was happening. Arhus began to waiver. the sword began to glow brightly, the water began to rush and swirl. Someone near was shouting. The dream was fading. Abiel heard Marin calling to her desperately. She was waking up.
CHAPTER
In a chamber of red-infused ambers, hundreds of candles blazed, wax dripped and pooled, connecting one candle to another, lined perfectly in the shape of a pentagram. Statues of a dragon in different poses carved from amber and onyx sat facing away from the pentagram at each of the five points. The room itself was round with red painted doors several yards from each statue. Sitting in the center of the blazing pentagram was a man, his head shaved and tattooed heavily in red and black inks in a language foreign to most lands. In place of eyebrows were similar tattoos that swept up into peaks of flame. He was shirtless, long muscular arms reached to the floor, scarred and tattooed, palms pressed firmly upon the hot stone tiles. He sat cross-legged, back straight, his breathing slow and precise, eyes closed. He was not in this room in mind or spirit, he was floating in the nothingness of time and space having a discussion with the God known as Orantius.
"I see not where this is a problem, Gurivan. Dead or alive, the Paladin is of no consequence to your designs." Orantius was alone. Such a thing had never happened within the bounds of time in the world of Gods and their creations. He'd found the machinations of mortals and all of their plans interesting. He was no true ally of Gurivan, but no mortal had ever found a way to call precisely to him or any other of the Nine. As such, he found Gurivan's tenacity and desire to rule the world under one throne to be fascinating. The Half-ogre half-blood elf showed considerable talents in the arts of magic and warfare. Far and beyond most in intelligence and design made Gurivan formidable and had Orantius considering whether or not it was worth splitting the universes among the other Gods as opposed to sharing. They all had the same powers, they were Gods and creators of worlds and life, after all- why not see to things individually? It was merely a consideration.
"The problem lies within her presence becoming known among the Lorelands and spreading, the armies uniting under her banner and thus ending my world domination before it begins." Even in the planes, the humor of the possibility that she might succeed in thwarting Gurivan's attempts was not lost on him. He would have paced had he been more than a vapor floating in the nothingness that was Orantius's plane of existence.
"You have more power." A simple point that would have caused Gurivan to nod in agreement had he had a head to nod.
"Has a Paladin ever failed?"
If Orantius had been a man, it might have taken him some time to think this over. The Paladin had existed for at least ten thousand years in the histories of this particular world, had touched its ground hundreds of times. But it took the slightest of moments to respond, "No."
"However, there has been no equal to the Paladin. And you are not her equal at present, you are her superior and will remain so as long as you take advantage of her youth. She will not ascend in any reasonable time that I can foresee given the choices she continues to make regarding an elven centurion. Make haste, my greatest follower. See to your people and your plans. You have the magic and knowledge to see them to fruition."
"And the dragon, Theralon?" Gurivan asked.
"Theralon the Red will continue to do as you bid."
"She grows weak."
"She must rest and be kept in constant fire, as I have instructed you before. Magic as you well know, is not an infinite source, and though the dragons are powerful and furious, their limits must be respected as your own or there will be nothing to help you in your quest."
"I understand, my father." The flattery had always seemed to warm Orantius, and if Gurivan was to find a way to claim the God's power for himself, it was better to keep him close and pleased. It was a risk, he knew, but the God had long since been giving away small secrets without realizing. In the God's mind, there was nothing to fear from Gurivan. He was flesh and blood after all, nothing significant. But Orantius's failing was that he had responded to Gurivan when he called. The art of God's and religion as far as the enormous man was concerned, was that Gods should remain aloof, a mystery. To keep their worshipers wondering what may lay in store, unable to contact them and seek aid for their personal desires in their singular life. In this way, he'd bested a God, and would become one himself, the only, in the end, with the God's help."One last matter before you leave me, son of mine. Should the day arise when you must face the Paladin, a weapon like no other must you use to take her from the world."
"I thought she could not die so long as she chose to return to it." Gurivan did not like this. He'd assumed she'd always be a thorn in his side and was prepared for that.
"You are correct. However, your aim will not be to kill so much as it will be to eliminate her as a threat to your power. Her body can die. Once she has chosen to return to it, it is a matter of days before she can walk among the living. But if she is trapped and cannot return to it,"
"Yes, I like this." Gurivan could have smiled.
"Her body must be maintained, encased in a crypt of magics. Therilan can create this for you, watch over it. As for killing her, that will be another matter. It has come to my attention that the sword of Karr has been shown to her, which means it will only be a matter of time before she ascends and takes it for herself, as is her birthright. You will need a weapon of equal measure in order to ensure her death, for no man-made steel of the known world or magic will bring her down."
"How is it that she died in the Vale?" Gurivan asked curiously.
"The Paladin chose to trade her life for the centurion's, a foolish gesture, which will make her return to the realm of men all the more suspicious, but may work to your advantage if you choose to see it as such. Upon your return to the temple, you will do two things: amass all of the precious metals you can to make nine swords. The ores and metals must be melted together. When they are ready, you will add to it nine of Theralon's scales, and make an offer your blood and you will call to me. I will answer this call and I will forge for you a weapon to defeat the Paladin. The second task is this: find those wary of the coming of the paladin. Convince them that she is every bit the threat they believe her to be. Now leave me, whisper my name into the ears of your followers. Let it be known that the world awaits your arrival and that I have chosen you to be my emissary."
"I will, my benevolent father."
Abiel struggled to move, to breathe. She was bound within a darkness that held no air. Her body felt heavy, painful. Her skin burned along with her lungs as she struggled against the magic of the necromancers. It did not take long before she was tired, almost too tired to fight. The darkness was frightening, the panic terrible. She tried to scream but there was no air to draw in or force out. She could see nothing, hear nothing. It was torture and agony. Her dream had left her, there was no one to call to. She was going to die, trapped Gods only knew where. Sheer panic engulfed her as a new darkness began to overtake her, the pain began to release as she faded.
Marin shrieked, lunging and kicking at the cart Abiel's encased body rested in. Instead of going to help Abiel, the men were intent upon settling him. She was alive and dying there. No magic the enchanter tried to cast upon him would keep Marin from trying to save her. It was Raxus who'd first spotted the other animals walking with the procession just beyond the road behind the tree lines and thickets. He'd assumed they were there to see Abiel off, just as they'd come to her aid when she'd been so distraught when they'd left Wrottsley. But the animals were now advancing, the enchanter had tried and succeeded in mesmerizing some but not all.
"What in all of the levels of Hell is going on here?" Vahlaur asked.
Shiftie looked at the encroaching animals and then to Marin and Abiel's body... panic. It was not his panic. In the midst of Marin's sudden rash behavior, he'd mistaken what he was feeling- feelings that were not his own.
"Karr be merciful..." he whispered and leaped onto the cart beside her body and began to tear at the enchanted linens. There was fading color in her cheeks. Shiftie opened her mouth and breathed into it once, twice, three times...
"What are you doing?!" Raxus screamed.
"For Gods sakes wake up!" Shiftie yelled and shook Abiel by the shoulders.
A long moment passed... Abiel's eyes opened wide, burning with tears as she took in air in a panicked state. Everyone stopped in their tracks and stared open-mouthed as the girl tried vehemently to breathe. The animals rushed to her, a mountain lion knocking Shiftie back and almost off the cart. Marin approached leaning his head over Shiftie and the lion to rest his nose against her cheek. Her body ached in a way she'd never experienced, her lungs and throat burned.
"Water," she gasped hoarsely. Shiftie jumped out of the cart and ripped a water gourde from Marin's saddle and brought it to her, pushing passed two racoons and a badger.
Abiel drank greedily, regretting it and began to choke. Shiftie took the gourde from her and held it.
"Slowly," he said quietly, trying to ignore the small paws touching his arm to reach her.
She sipped now, trying to take her time. She was ready to drink a river's worth of water. After a long while, she waived the third gourde away, satisfied for the moment, but feeling very hungry. It would have to wait, that she could tell by the looks of astonishment on her friend's faces.
"What happened to me?" Abiel asked.
"I'd like the same answer," Shiftie snapped.
"Where am I?"
"Foremn Glade, three days ride from the Vale by horse, or four if your travelling slowly carrying a dead body." Raxus snapped.
"Who's dead body?" Abiel insisted.
"Yours!" Raxus snapped.
It was the bard who'd decided first to find happiness in the notion that the girl was alive, and despite the litany of forest critters intent upon surrounding her, leaned over them to hug Abiel and welcome her.
"I shall have to write a special song for this occasion," he smiled and kissed her forehead. Abiel smiled warmly at Vahlaur, but looked to Shiftie in bewilderment.
"How could I be dead? Again?! Am I still dead? And if I was dead, how can I now be alive?" she was panicking and they could feel it. Shiftie sighed irritably. It was bad enough that he didn't understand what had happened up until that point, but to be bombarded by her feelings was about all he could take.
"Will you please get a hold of yourself so that we can decipher this blasphemy? Can you do something about this?" he waived angrily at the animals. Marin bared his teeth at Shiftie, who nearly slapped the horses muzzle in return.
Abiel took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.
"Please my friends, I need to try to get up from here." Abiel pulled the shredded linens from her feet and with a considerable amount of discomfort, turned and slid herself to the rear of the cart. Marin moved quickly to kneel so that she could use him to try to stand. She touched her bare feet to the long grass- this triggered something in her memory that she could not clarify. A mountain and water.... that was all she could recall, and focused again on standing. Using the girth strap of the saddle, Abiel got to her feet. Her body felt heavy, much like the armor. Her stomach growled.
Shiftie looked about nervously. "Are you fit enough to ride?"
"I am if you need me to be," Abiel replied.
"The sooner we leave here and get to... somewhere..." his voice trailed off. It would be a matter of days before the carrier bird reached Juldain warning of Abiel's death. Shiftie looked at the girl, who was staring at him awaiting his instructions and answers.
"The closest town is Eohann. Beyond that, it's at least a weeks hard ride to the Forge." Vahlaur said, still smiling at Abiel, who was trying to raise a smile from the still silent enchanter, Mencius.
"We will start for Eohann. We will rest there, then make for the Forge."
"You four head there, I'll see to the cart and mules." Vahlaur offered.
"Thank you." Shiftie said curtly. To leave them or set them loose was to invite inquiries.
"I shall see you shortly, young one. By then, I shall have a song to play for you." Vahlaur kissed Abiel's hand.
"It's good to see you, Vahl'. I look forward to hearing your music." Abiel smiled and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, though it hurt her legs to do so. Vahlaur helped seat Abiel upon Marin.
"Back to your homes, all of you." Abiel commanded, waiving at the animals to leave. Reluctantly, the beasts made their way back to the trees. "I'll be fine now," she assured them as eyes peering through foliage kept watch.
Shiftie pulled himself into the saddle behind her, wrapping a strong arm around her waist almost too tightly for comfort. Raxus took his saddle as Vahlaur tied his horse to the back of the cart. Mencius pulled the torn death shroud from the cart and stuffed them hastily into his saddle bags before mounting, his silence still sitting heavily about them.
The sun had dipped behind the forest when they reached the small farming village of Eohan. It was bustling with soldiers and caster from the Lore lands, the sounds of music and singing rang clearly in celebration of the victory. Shiftie was quick to pull his cloak about him, pulling his hood up to shroud his face. Raxus untied his black cloak and handed it to Abiel. He and Mencius went inside in hopes of finding rooms. The inn was filled to capacity, but many a farmer was willing to rent out their barns and even their homes for the right price. Raxus accepted such an invitation and reappeared outside and motioned that the others should follow. Down the main road a stretch was the small one room cottage and a barn with plenty of room for the six of them. Once settled, Raxus paid the farmer handsomely for the shelter and any food the man could spare. Raxus headed back to the town to wait for Vahlaur and to find what ever company he could for the night as the others settled in, making beds of hay.
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